


The Spaces Between

by Tabithian



Series: The Spaces Between [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look terrible.”</p><p>Tim manages something close to a smile and says, “Thanks Tam.”</p><p> </p><p>(Or Tim finds a stray.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spaces Between

**Author's Note:**

> *hands*

“You look terrible.”

Tim manages something close to a smile and says, “Thanks Tam.”

His workload's been heavier than usual lately, stretched thin because Gotham's the kind of city that doesn't care for excuses. It's taking a toll on him in lost sleep and skipped meals and he knows he's headed for a crash, but not just yet. 

Tam's looking at him, eyes narrowing as she takes in the bags under his eyes and the tired slant to his shoulders when he forgets. Caught up in paperwork, the countless little things that crop up over the course of the day.

There's a set to her mouth he recognizes well, frustration, irritation. Worry.

But because it's Tam, she schools her expression and lifts her chin. Hands the stack of folders in her hands over and simply asks, “Problems sleeping?” 

“Something like that,” he answers, taking the folders from her. Thinks about it for a moment, and says, “...I picked up a stray.”

That nets him a suspicious look because it's Tam. She knows things she probably shouldn't – things she'd be better off not knowing. He can see her working through the possibilities based on past experience.

Also, probably the fact there was an incident all over the news the other day, suspected weapons deal that had gone bad and involved a shootout and, in fine Gotham tradition, an explosion. 

“What kind of stray are we talking here?” she asks, almost like she really doesn't want to hear the answer.

Tim leans back in his chair, considering. 

Tam crosses her arms and _looks_ at him, waiting.

“Annoying,” Tim says after a long moment, and that much at least is true. 

“Tim - “

“I think he might have fleas,” Tim says. He's never claimed to be a nice person. “He keeps scratching.”

Tam looks at him for a long moment, and then nods to herself before walking away, purpose in her stride.

********

Jason's still there when Tim gets home later that day, looking tired and obviously hurting but unwilling to admit it. Glaring at Tim's television like it's personally offended him with the paltry offerings of daytime television viewing.

“Hey,” Tim says, hanging his coat up by the door. “How was your day?”

Even though he has to know better, Jason still hurls the remote at him, snarling to cover up the wince as he pulls at his stitches. (Thankfully, that's all it is, impressive bruising and a a few stitches, just enough to make Jason irritable while he heals.)

Tim stoops to pick the remote up, balancing it in one hand as he levels an unimpressed look at Jason. “Here,” he says, tossing the small bag Tam had left on his desk earlier. “This is from Tam.” 

“What?” Jason growls, hand coming up to catch it. “I thought I told you not to - “

“Just open it,” Tim says, dropping the remote on a side table on his way to the kitchen to Jason's grumbling. 

He feels the smirk taking form as he hears the crinkling of the shopping bag, and bites back a laugh at the sudden silence that follows.

“The fuck is this?” 

Tim ducks around the partition between the kitchen and living room. “I had to tell her something,” he says, biting his lip at the look on Jason's face. “She's not stupid.”

Jason scowls at the flea collar in his hand, eyes narrowing as he looks up at Tim. “Explain.” 

Tim shrugs, thoroughly unconcerned. “I may have told her I picked up a stray,” he says. 

Jason's scowl shows how he he feels about _that_ , along with a muttered, “Shut up.”

********

Dick drops down lightly next to him, shoulders brushing companionably as they look out over Gotham.

“Hey.”

Tim tips his head to the side, just the tiniest bit. “Hey.”

Somewhere out there Steph and Cass are playing a game that Damian still hasn't quite gotten the hang of. It's training, seen from a certain angle – Bruce's certainly – but it's also a game, levels above anything found on a playground. Elements of tag and hide and seek and something uniquely _theirs_.

Here, next to Tim, Dick's watching him, mouth a thin line because he talks with Tam, knows Tim isn't taking care of himself the way he should. 

“Tam told me you found a stray.”

News travels fast, doesn't it.

Tim smiles, “Something like that,” he says.

Dick doesn't say anything for a long moment, carefully doesn't mention the fact that no one's seen or heard from a certain vigilante since the incident a few days ago.

Glances at Tim, eyebrow raised.

Tim shrugs, lets his gaze wander like he doesn't know exactly what Dick's thinking.

Another long moment of silence and Dick huffs a laugh, nudges Tim's shoulder. “Last one to Wayne Tower loses!”

Tim watches Dick free fall before he throws out a line, and comms Steph. “So about that favor you owe me...”

He could chase after Dick, or he can get Steph and Cass to create a diversion to give him time to get there without overdoing it. They can get Damian to help if they tell him it's training, really it is.

When Dick finally shows up at Wayne Tower he's soaking wet and looking a little worse for wear because Steph and Cass but mostly Damian.

Tim would ask, but he's afraid what the answer might be.

“Playing dirty, little brother?”

Tim looks at him, and takes a page from Bruce when he says, “Efficiently utilizing the resources at my disposal.” 

A beat of silence, perhaps a hint of incredulousness, and Tim barely manages to duck out of the way when Dick goes in for a headlock.

Dick growls, and Tim steps backward into empty space, already aiming for the next rooftop, laughter trailing him as Dick gives pursuit.

*******

“This is just as not funny as the first time it happened,” Jason says.

Tim looks into the box on the coffee table, Wayne Enterprises logo on the side and the delivery receipt laid next to it.

“Tam may have mentioned something to Dick,” he says by way of explanation. (Or Dick may be a trained detective, who can say.)

Jason sighs, deeply put upon as he pulls a squeaky toy out of the box. It's a cartoonish looking bird in reds and yellows and greens with a little black 'R' on its chest.

“This fucking city,” he mutters, and then squeezes the little rubber robin to make it squeak.

“Nice,” Tim says, because, well. Nice.

“I hate you,” Jason says. Tosses the squeaky toy at Tim's face and says, “Really.”

Tim bats the toy away before it hits him and nods agreeably. “I know,” he says, and then, “what did you want for dinner?”

It's not. Not routine, this, Tim going to work at Wayne Enterprises and coming back to Jason sprawled over his couch and (usually) having an argument with the television before bickering over what they're going to have for dinner, no.

Just. 

“Eh,” Jason says, flipping through channels. “You pick.”

When Tim looks over at him, Jason's looking back. 

“This is weird, right?” Tim asks, because _really_.

Jason waggles his head. “Eh,” he says again, “Gotham.”

As if that's an actual answer. (Well, it is, actually, in various situations, just not this particular one. Probably.)

“Jason - “

“You think too much,” Jason says. Pauses, eyes narrowing. “And you need to fucking sleep once in a while because you look like shit.”

“Wow,” Tim says. “Such a sweet talker.”

Jason's clearly feeling back to his old self. (Tim would suspect Dick of meddling, but Jason doesn't seem aggravated enough for that.)

“Shut it,” Jason says, scowls. “And I take it back, you don't get to pick tonight. I want Chinese.”

Tim sighs, “We had that last night.”

And no, no, this is not getting stranger, it's not.

“No,” Jason says, “We had Chinese the night before, but I can see how you'd make that mistake because I'm pretty fucking sure you haven't slept since then."

Lies. Tim definitely fell asleep for a bit in the board meeting this morning.

“Jesus Christ, who the hell let you live on your own?” Jason demands.

And that. That is a very good question, really.

“Okay, you know what?” Jason asks. 

“What?” Tim asks, because he very much can't not.

Jason rolls his eyes. “You are going to take a shower and get changed - “ Jason scowls when Tim opens his mouth to say something ill-advised - “and when you're done dinner will be here so you can stuff your damn face before going to sleep.”

“But - “

“I'll tell Bruce you're not going on patrol tonight, don't worry.”

Well he wasn't before, so thanks for that. Really.

“You want me to tell Alfred?” Jason asks, because he's a cheater.

“You wouldn't,” Tim finds himself saying. He has more dirt on Jason at the moment.

Jason smiles like he knows it and just doesn't care. “Try me.”

Tim.

“Seriously,” Jason says.

“Patrol,” Tim says, but Jason reaches for his phone.

“Speed dial,” Jason says, holds his finger over his phone's keyboard. 

Tim likes to think of it as a tactical retreat when he does what Jason says, even though they both know it really isn't. (Alfred's disapproval is not something any of them want directed at their person, even if they've more than earned it as in Tim's case.)

*******

So the thing is, Tim thinks, smiling blandly at Bruce as he engages in the farce of Brucie, Wayne Enterprises executives looking on curiously, the thing is - 

“Tim, you're looking good today,” Bruce says, beaming as he looks him over. “Rested.”

Tim smiles, hopes Bruce isn't in one of his moods. (He is, though, Tim can tell.)

And then Bruce leans into his personal space, terrifying glint of amusement in his eye. 

“For that stray you picked up,” Bruce says, and hands Tim a lovely pink pet collar studded with rhinestones, and _winks_. 

Tim keeps the smile up as he accepts Bruce's gift, polite clapping and approving noises from their audience.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tim says, lays it on thick .”I'll be sure to let him know who it's from.”

The clapping falters at that, their audience not quite sure what's going on - 

One of Brucie's brightest smiles, and maybe a little...hmm...petty vindictiveness, Tim will call it, “Oh, please do.”

(The thing is, Bruce is going to get him absolutely _murdered_.)

*******

“I'm going to kill him,” Jason says, far too calmly as he stares at the collar. “I'm really going to kill the bastard this time.”

Tim doesn't offer a word of protest.

**Author's Note:**

> /o\
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Now with comment fic regarding the aftermath of Bruce's present because I don't know what I'm doing anymore. /o\](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/33169926)


End file.
